He had good excuse for his dilatory ways, being still far from strong; but now he was bound on the task of performing what he told himself was his duty—that of going straight to Lady Jenny Wildersey, confessing every thing in an open, manly way, and begging her to set him free from the engagement he had made.
“I could not marry such a woman now,” he said to himself again and again; “she would drive me mad!”
It was a hard struggle, but he was determined to carry it through, and one morning he crossed the Park and the Mall, and made his way straight into Saint James’s Square.
Everything looked the same, except himself, for he was bronzed and worn, and his countenance displayed a scar. But he was as brightly dressed as on the day he called to say fare well, for he had had to attend at the admiral’s to give an account of his proceedings, and had found, to his surprise, that not only was the loss of his ship condoned by the complete rooting out of the buccaneers, but he had been promoted, and was shortly to engage in another expedition, this time to the East.
Saint James’s Square looked just as of old, and the same servant opened to his hasty knock and met him with a smile.
He had come without sending notice, and he had made no inquiry since his landing, telling himself that it was better so; and now, strung up for his painful task, he strode into the great marble-paved hall.
“Ask Lady Jenny if she will see me—a private interview,” he said to the ponderous old butler who came forward as the footman closed the door.
“Lady Jenny, sir? The countess is at the lakes with his lordship.”
“The countess! I said Lady Jenny.”
“Yes, sir,” said the old butler with a smile. “We always speak of her young ladyship now as the countess.”